


A Profound Understanding

by jhoono



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ambiguous Quadrant, Asexual Character, BDSM, Chastity Belts, Dom!Kankri, Established Relationship, M/M, Matespriteship - Freeform, Mentioned Forceful Sterilization, Moiraillegience, Nooks, Second Person, Spanking, Sub!Karkat, Tentabulges, Xeno, stunted growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoono/pseuds/jhoono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kankri needs to take more physical measures in order to make Karkat understand the severity of his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Profound Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for mentions of forceful sterilization, (VERY MILD) sex repulsion, lack of consideration towards an asexual character (acephobia??? fuckin). major warning for shit dialogue.

You'd never really pinned yourself as the sort to indulge in the types of depravity usually reserved for filial season. A part of it comes from a part of you which you are distinctly lacking, but you've assured yourself over the sweeps that regardless of the circumstances, you simply aren't capable of finding any sort of sexual stimulation satisfying whatsoever. It's no surprise. You don't like to dwell or elaborate on your time under the care of those governmentally deemed fit for the task, but certain procedures left you physically modest in size, not that you mean to insinuate that other individuals lacking in a libido are stunted.

No, you're pretty sure now that your growth was quite literally stunted because of your forceful sterilization. As evidenced by your dancestor. While your height is humble at best, downright mortifying at worst, Karkat seems to have grown like a shoot, at the very least a good foot taller than you, likely more. When you'd first met him, he had about half an inch on you, but where you remained stagnant height-wise he shot upwards.

Not that you're bitter about it.

No, you have no reason to be, not when it's evident that your size disparity in no way shapes your interactions. He still hangs on your every word (or at the very least he doesn't try to interrupt you while you speak) and though he will on occasion walk into you just because he fails to look where he’s going, he is always more than happy to apologize and grab things off of tall shelves when you're unable to reach.

That's not to say you don't help him, too. You do. Not just with education, either, though you offer him plenty of advice and emotional support. Though you have no interest personally in sexual pleasure, Karkat gets quite the kick out of it, and you're willing to admit that you get a kick out of giving him what he wants when he requests it.

Oh, and does Karkat request it. After some time, things have developed between you so he's comfortable enough to simply tell you his preferences. You have your own limits which you have no qualms about voicing, but what surprises you more are the things that you don't have any issues with doing. Among other things, you refuse adamantly to ever gag Karkat (the idea of limiting his speech so blatantly makes you sick), and if he gets too eager to touch you you have a tendency to 'lose your cool,' and you remain fully clothed for the duration of anything sexual.

In spite of your various inhibitions and Karkat's, you've come to learn that physical stimulation is one of the easiest ways to get him to behave. He's quite the rebel. It gives you a perfect excuse.

Like just now, for instance.

"Kankri..." he says, tone warning as you straddle his chest, leaning over him to tie his hands over his head, his fingers clasped together. You use silk - it keeps rashes to a minimum in addition to its lovely red color - and you keep scissors on the bedside table just as a precaution. He's never told you to use them, but there have been a few occasions in which you cut him out out of your own instincts. He's never gotten upset with you for it (sometimes he's been just as relieved as you have), which only helps to solidify the comfort you feel with sharing this side of yourself with him.

"You said you didn't understand how it could feel to be in my figurative shoes, didn't you?" you ask, finishing the knot and sliding your hands down his arms, reveling in the little shudder that elicits as you slip back to his stomach, looking into his eyes and awaiting a response.

"Oh hell no, what're you going to do," he answers, voice completely flat.

"To quote, you were 'honestly appalled that anyone could possibly say no to something as good as sex.' You also said that you thought 'there is something wrong with you, Kankri, to not be absolutely shitting yourself to screw someone, or to get screwed.' Now, I am aware that as an individual not yet fully educated on the scientific and emotional reasons behind my feelings on the matter, you are deserving of a few leniences. You remember your safeword, right?"

"Scythe," he says quickly, "and I didn't realize what was coming out of my mouth, okay? God, it's not my fault that you're oversensitive about the fact that you had your globes lopped off."

Something inside of you twists at that, and you level a glare at him until he finally falters.

"Sorry," he mumbles, head turning to the side to avoid meeting your cold gaze.

"Whether I would have been different without my procedure is unimportant, Karkat, because there exist in the bubbles no iterations of myself who lived on Beforus and avoided it. Implying that I would be better off without it is not only obscenely rude, but it in fact marginalizes the struggles of myself and people who may have undergone similar fates. For the sake of brevity, I won't even go into detail on the fact that you outright denied the existence of people with entirely intact shameglobes with no sexual interest."

He rolls his eyes, a gesture which earns him a light slap on the cheek (he's said many times he doesn't mind getting it rougher but you'd sooner die again than leave a bruise on his face). You continue, "You're likely wondering how this applies to you right now. Well, I can't answer the question of how it feels to 'be in my shoes' in regards to sexual situations. However, I can quite easily demonstrate how it feels to 'be in my shoes' when people undermine my experiences."

"What're you going to do to me?" he asks, back arching a bit. He's learned, over time, to associate getting tied up with sex, a Pavlovian response that you never cease to find endearing.

"Spread your legs, will you?" you request, getting off of him and crawling on the bed to kneel between his bulky thighs, sifting through your sylladex until you find what you want.

You show him the chastity device, which he doesn't immediately recognize if the raising of his brows is any indication. He's seen strap-ons before (and felt them, and tasted them), so he at the very least recognizes that the leather straps are meant to go around the thighs and hips. The leather rectangle with a piece of metal attached to the outside to keep it rigid is a new addition, though, rather than a protruding fake bulge. "This device should help you develop a deeper and more profound understanding of not only restraint, but empathy. You'll soon be learning firsthand just how it feels when people try to disregard your struggles."

You then fuss over the straps for a moment, getting the lower four of them attached around his thighs, two leather loops. The upper two are easier, though you have to hug him to clasp them in the back. Really, though, is an amorous embrace something you would ever see as undesired, so long as you were instigating?

It's now that he's rolling his hips a bit, bulge sheath pressed firmly shut by the leather rectangle. He won't be able to unsheathe like this, and it's at this time that he starts to realize that, already growing a bit distressed.

"Karkat, Karkat, calm down," you say, rubbing a thigh, "I promise this won't leave any damage on you." You put it on yourself, as a matter of fact, wearing it for a full day just to make sure that it wouldn't end up chafing or otherwise hurting such a sensitive part of Karkat's body. It felt pretty strange to walk in, and people questioned your change from leggings to normal jeans, but other than that it was actually somewhat nice, a reassuring weight.

He's squirming a bit more desperately now that he realizes that there's no way for him to get off, which makes you feel almost guilty for a moment until you steel yourself, recalling in the face of adversity the fact that he did actually ask what it felt like to be in your situation.

"How I feel in a sexual scenario isn't important. This, to me, is like any other interaction I hold with you, albeit more intimate. However, a life and following afterlife where I was (and still am) constantly belittled and questioned for things out of my control was," you pause to run a finger up his exposed nook, which makes him squirm, "frustrating."

"Kankri," he says again, voice raising half an octave.

"Hold still while I put the spreader bar on you and tie your legs up," you say. He's always a little more comfortable if he knows exactly what's happening (and he seems to appreciate getting told all the dirty things you want to do to him), and you've never been one to deny him your voice.

You shuffle off of the bed to retrieve the spreader bar from your bottom drawer (you hide all sorts of things under a heap of oversized sweaters) and return to between his legs, attaching the bar. A second strip of silk goes around his ankles until he's entirely immobilized, at your mercy for as long as you choose to have him there. Judging by the look on his face, you'll be having him here for a while.

"Can you roll onto your stomach?" you ask him, already crawling to one side and putting your hands on his bare skin to help roll him over onto the folded towel you laid out to keep the sheets clean. You lack the physical size to do it without his help, but it's the thought that counts. The fact that he complies without a hint of reluctance helps to make you feel a bit bigger, too, albeit in a figurative sense.

"You can just say that you want to punish me in a kinky sense for no reason," he says, trying to wiggle his hips a bit as if to make his posterior seem more tantalizing to you (it doesn't).

"There is a reason, Karkat. And contrary to what you may believe, that reason isn't exclusively because I want to tie you up and spank you." That's just an added benefit, you don't say. "You want to know what it feels like to be treated as though you're lacking an essential part of yourself. In this scenario, the thing you're lacking is your bulge. My intention is to simulate and hopefully illuminate the struggles individuals like myself must face on a day-to-day basis."

You can hear the exasperated sigh that he tries to muffle with the pillow under him, and you promptly interrupt it with a flat palm against one of his asscheeks. It jiggles, and the noise that comes out of Karkat's mouth at that, almost a choked-off gasp, makes you decide you simply must do it again, on the other cheek for the sake of symmetry.

He's already excited by just that contact, and you straddle his lower back reverse-cowgirl style, taking two handfuls of his ass just because you can. You've always loved this part, the fact that he'll allow you to touch him in any way you please. He takes a breath in through his teeth as you squeeze the flesh, one hand moving between his spread thighs to trail two manicured fingertips up his nook which is just now starting to get wet.

"Excited already, hm?" you say, to which his lips part to respond in some inflammatory manner. You silence him with another slap, just where his ass meets his right thigh. What you're sure was supposed to be a scathing comment dissolves into a yelp.

"I expect you to address me with respect, Karkat."

"But I hadn't even fucking said anyth- AH!"

"That means no vulgar language."

"I'm sorry."

You slap again, to which he lets out an affronted screech.

"I'm sorry what," you goad, pinching at the reddened skin.

"I'm sorry, sir."

You let the sarcastic tone slide, instead massaging his irritated skin with your warm palms. The noise he makes is deliciously undignified, which only inspires you to press your hands in harder, feeling him arch and try to somehow get some friction which could satisfy him enough. It's cute, really. He's always so desperate as soon as the doors are closed and locked.

You tease at Karkat's nook again, one hand resting on his thigh so you can feel his muscles clench with the effort required to not resist against the bonding and push your fingers inside of himself. You say, "You're going to hold still, aren't you?"

"Yessir," he responds, almost sounding pained at the admission. You're not sure if he gets that much out of addressing you with an honorific, but it doesn't actively bother him and it helps to immerse you in the situation. Besides that, it's nice to have someone larger than you (not that the fact that he's larger is important, of course) treating you as a superior.

“Now that’s a well-behaved pet. Please, tell me, how are you feeling?” you ask, partially in character and partially out.

“Like I sat on a griddle,” he gripes, causing you to frown. Your discipline thus far has been less than what he usually endures, and you were eager for more. You’re no empath, of course, which means that it’s all the more important that you communicate with Karkat through every step of your sessions.

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“NO!”

Sigh. “I’ll respect your wishes, then. I was going to get out the riding crop, but if you’re not interested, we can always move to the next phase of this-”

“No, really! I mean, yes! Yes to the fucking riding crop, no to the skipping any stages.”

Even out of scene, your Karkat is just pitifully endearing. And masochistic. Maybe you like that about him, too.

“Always the eager one, aren’t you,” you hum, slipping off of his back and retrieving the aforementioned crop from your drawer. The only one you managed to snag discreetly had some sort of ridiculous-looking fuzzy loop on the backside, and your scissors could only do so much to make it look the part. Its functional end, fortunately, doesn’t suffer any such issues, so the bit of dried glue on the handle doesn’t faze you.

To begin with, you simply trail the leather tip ever-so-gently against the segment of skin you’re planning on striking. It’s a good habit, and one that you formed intentionally. Not only does it make shivers run down Karkat’s back, it gives him enough of a warning to brace himself. Surprises aren’t easy to handle after so many sweeps of fear on Karkat’s part, so you try to keep the more physically jarring ones to a minimum.

SMACK.

You almost don’t hear the noise Karkat makes, muffled by the pillow and his own shame. It’s at times like these that you almost wish you had the grit to install a hook in the ceiling so he could be forced to stay on his knees for the duration, forced to make every squeak and whine into the open air. Somehow, though, that idea has you gritting your teeth. Being shackled up against something like that doesn’t do well for your nerves, even if you’re not directly suffering the treatment.

The following three strikes are equally ineffective at getting an audible response, which leads you to take a new tack. You press the leather tip of the crop against the opening of his nook, rubbing at the steadily dripping lips. If you weren’t clever enough to purchase black sheets and put a towel under him, this platform would look like a dye job to the untrained eye.

This finally causes a reaction which you’re willing to appreciate. Karkat’s head turns to the side so you can hear his adorable little moan, eyes closed tightly in this weird expression that you struggle to describe as anything other than frustrated.

“Sir,” he whines, wiggling just barely against the sheets, “I’m starting to get a little desperate here.”

“Desperate?” you ask, pulling the crop back again (and getting a troubled hum for your efforts). “What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean!” he huffs, and you only press the now-wet leather against his skin before he realizes his mistake.

SMACK.

“It’s inconsiderate morally to assume that I know anything about what you mean. There are many people who aren’t as empathetic or capable of reading physical cues in a scenario as you, and in the future you may want to keep that in mind.”

“Come on, Kankri, please.”

“Please what?”

Press. SMACK.

“Please just fuck me already!”

You don’t know what’s gotten into your little pet, but it’s nice to see him so wanton from just a handful of strikes. You wonder if having his bulge restrained has anything to do with his newfound desperation. You wonder how it’ll feel for him to have his aroused bulge stimulated before it’s unsheathed.

“What are you getting out of this?” you ask him, admiring how his skin has flushed this stinging red color.

“Out of… out of getting spanked?” Karkat’s tone is awkward, but sometimes requesting clarification on such intimate subjects can have that effect.

“Yes, and all the acts of a similar nature.”

“It feels nice, I guess. Now are you going to make me use my tongue to write out an essay on why my dick doth squirmeth, or are you going to actually get to it sometime this sweep?” It’s now that you notice how hard he’s trying to hold still, how careful he is to obey you in spite of his words.

“Do you want me to attach it, or not?” you ask, already rifling through your drawer. You’ve got a few different bulges, depending on your mood, and you’re currently looking over a medium-sized one with ridges on one side designed to rub at the frontal walls of the nook. With his bulge still sheathed, you’re confident that it will bring to him only the most delightful of torture.

“Attach it,” Karkat requests, for now blissfully unaware of his impending torment. He usually does prefer it when you’ve got the bulge strapped soundly to your person, but sometimes he’s too impatient for you to do even that.

You, deciding not to waste any more time, work on the straps and fasten the bulge in its proper spot with dexterity. Karkat can only see your silhouette in his peripheral vision, and you’re certain it looks ridiculous, but he doesn’t comment. He’s probably well aware that any more sassing on his part will delay what he’s so adorably starved for.

Or maybe he actually does find the sight arousing…?

You don’t mull over that much more to save yourself from the slight discomfort the idea provides you with, kneeling behind Karkat and tapping his hips with your fingers. He gets the idea and raises them for you, for once above putting on a show about his embarrassment. In fact, you don’t think he has much shame left at all, which makes it far easier for him to be vocal about how he’s doing (and it’s easier for him to be vocal, period, too).

“You must be feeling bereft right now,” you muse, reaching around Karkat to press your fingers against the sheathguard.

He only manages to make an “mmm” noise at the pressure, hips rolling for more of it in spite of how uncomfortable it has to be. His nonverbal response, you’ll admit, ticks off a switch in your pan. You’d never gag him, but simply telling him not to say a word, now that would symbolize respect and then some.

You press your lips to one tensed shoulder blade as you start things off with one finger in his nook. It’s… it’s tighter than you’re used to for him, but you’ve felt tighter from your own failed attempts at masturbation. He may not have his bulge out, but at the very least it’s apparent that he’s wet at all.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” you say into his shoulder, wiggling your finger and trying to feel for his bulge out of curiosity. It’s not hard to find, and as soon as you do locate it he lets out the nicest little gasp.

“I will,” he says, but then he pulls his hips away from your hand and you don’t pursue. “Wait, will you take this belt off when I say to and only when I say to, or do you have an internal timer you’re waiting on before you just take it off yourself?”

“I’ll take it off at my own pace if you don’t say anything, but do not feel obligated to stay quiet if you feel legitimate pain,” you clarify, this time using two fingers to get him accustomed to the feeling of getting fucked without properly unsheathing.

He takes to it with a strangled humming noise, rolling his hips down just subtly enough for you to notice. “You clearly are not struggling to find pleasure in this, are you?” you question. He doesn’t respond save for another shaky ‘nnn’ noise, but you can’t find it in yourself to be upset over it.

“That’s a good boy,” you say after a few moments’ time, rubbing his thigh with the hand not occupied curling its fingers deep inside of him, “taking my fingers so well. Tell me when you want more, Karkat, and lift your hips up a bit more for me.”

He complies easily with your request, mouth open wide to gulp in a little more air. From where you are, it looks sort of funny, but you’ve learned that everything about Karkat tends to look a little funny when he’s out of his mind with pleasure. You have before had to wash the pillowcases from his drooling on them.

Now, this part is a little tricky. You have to push his legs closer to his chest in order to keep from ramming your poor thighs repeatedly into the bar with your frantic humping, for lack of a better term. Still, though, with his feet tied together it’s a difficult feat. Maybe you could just…

Pursing your lips contemplatively, you maneuver yourself so his feet are around you and his knees are almost touching his chest, the spreader bar and his feet no longer obstacles.

“There,” you say aloud to yourself, looking down and taking hold of your artificial protrusion to guide it to the flushed lips of his nook. He’s not all too sensitive there typically, but the spanking and teasing has drawn his tolerance for contact taut, and he almost flinches when you cautiously guide the dildo inside of him.

You really do wish you didn’t mind the feeling of vibrations on your sheath so terribly, because if you pressed into him with something cool and buzzing you’re fairly sure he’d outright cry from pleasure. You’ll worry yourself over making him cry with what you have for now, you suppose.

“How’s this?” you ask as your ‘bulge’ fills him, the ridges on the top rubbing against his sheathed bulge in a way that makes his breath shake as he whimpers.

“Ah-hahh,” he’s able to sound out, which you’re led to believe is a good thing.

“You’re such a well-behaved troll when you’re not able to speak,” you croon, “such a good pet. You’re here to make me feel good, Karkat, I want you to remember that. You’re my favorite toy.”

The degrading talk is coupled with a harsh jerk back, causing the ridges to run hard over Karkat’s bulge. He practically screams from overstimulation.

“Does that feel good? Don’t you like it when I use you like a proper pail, pet?”

“Yes, ahh, yes, yes sir.” It’s so strange how quickly the switch is flipped for him as soon as he’s filled with a hard bulge. You wonder if you’d be the same way if you felt sexual arousal. You sincerely hope not.

You’re tempted to say more, but he doesn’t seem to be up to receiving much of anything in the terms of verbal advice. Your words would be wasted.

You occupy yourself instead with getting a good angle on his nook, pulling back slowly only to give another harsh jerk against him. His lips are closed, but each movement causes a hum that you’d describe as pained if you didn’t know any better. Usually it takes a lot more to get him to this point of nigh nonverbal bliss.

“Karkat?” You still yourself.

“Mmm?”

“I’d appreciate an apology for making fun of something I have no control over.”

“Mm hmm.”

“I’ll take the guard off if you say you’re sorry,” you sweeten the deal by saying.

Well, that garners a reaction, if his sudden move to press his ass flush against your hips is any indication. “Sorry, I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking and I fucked up, now please take the guard off. I’m so close. Please.”

And who are you to refuse your pupil?

The guard is removed, finally, and his bulge unsheathes in one fluid motion (you can feel with the hand you’ve got between his legs). It’s astounding, because after his unsheathing it takes one, two, three stroke-thrusts before he wails, gushing red onto the towel and arching back for more of that painful overstimulation. You milk his bulge for all it’s worth, grimacing where he can’t see it as his nook drips and squirts, staining the thighs of your leggings.

Finally, he stops trying to impale himself, going limp against the sheets. You pull away, kissing his spine as you unfasten the fake bulge.

“How are you?” you ask, using the (red-stained) towel to wipe off the insides of his thighs.

“Good,” he answers simply, breaths coming in short pants.

“Wasn’t it nice when you finished?” You unclasp the spreader bar and allow his legs to close.

“Do you have a fucking worksheet I should fill out?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, it felt good.”

“Imagine how it would feel if I’d not taken your guard off for you.” You’re untying his hands, his feet.

“Uh…?”

“That feeling is what it’s like to be invalidated repeatedly. Now do you understand why I don’t care for being treated as though my identity doesn’t matter?”

He says nothing more, which you take as a victory. You’ve got a lot of cleaning to do, as well as some post-coital cuddling (admittedly one of your favorite parts). After that will come a more in-depth discussion, and Karkat will be on his way. For now, though, you allow yourself to revel in having proven your point.

**Author's Note:**

> i Fuckin Fucked Up


End file.
